


The Balancing Act

by a_q



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bureaucracy, Developing Relationship, Other, Spies & Secret Agents, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_q/pseuds/a_q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moira loved her job, it's that some days her team drives her up the wall.<br/>(a!Charles, b!Moira, o!Erik)</p>
<p>Written for A/B/O Ladies Ficathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Balancing Act

**Author's Note:**

> \- The pound concept is from anon prompt in Avengers Kink Meme, I wrote "Signatures and Tokens" for it.  
> \- I've wanted to write Moira as a Shield agent for awhile, but I haven't gotten a plot for it, so I used the opportunity to try it out here.  
> \- Timeline wise I imagined this as AU, several years after 'Agent Carter' short film - still a fledgling SHIELD, but with a formed inner structure.

It was days like these that made Moira wonder what the hell had gone through her head when she had picked this team. Director Carter had given her the option to change her team, but she refused to fail like that. When they worked together, they were efficient and unstoppable. It was just the times when both men pulled in opposite directions that made her wonder if she should change careers to something relaxing, like bomb disposal. 

Moira parked the car a block away, taking her umbrella from the backseat before getting out in the rain. She crossed the street when the light changed and joined the flow of foot traffic heading to east, toward the city center. She kept an eye on her surroundings, but she saw nothing remarkable. Regular Saturday morning, people walking fast and heads bowed against the wind. Still, she followed the guidelines and walked around the block to make sure no one followed her before turning to the side street.

The pound was in the back-end of an old building, one of those places meant as temporary pounds after the war but then stayed open when the problems in the neighborhood never ended as predicted, getting haphazard upgrades when the city council remembered that these places still existed. 

Moira closed her umbrella and shook off the water, pushing the door open with her shoulder. The waiting room was small, with ugly green paint on the walls and dirty tiled floor. The air-conditioner rattled high on the wall, but judging by the smell in the room, it didn't move much air. A long counter with smudged glass separated the office side from the waiting room, and all three windows were manned with bored junior officials, looking more hangover than their clientele. 

Moira chose the shortest line, settling behind an elderly lady, who complained loudly to the young man sitting behind the glass. Everyone in the room listened the discussion, in the sort of inevitable curiosity that happened when there was nothing else to hold their attention.

“My daughter can damn well pay her own bail, I don't have time for this. I was at the salon, getting my hair done!” 

The young man nodded absentmindedly, pushing a form clipped into a board through the slot. “Please fill this, Mrs. Wilson, and we'll see what we can do.”

She grabbed the board, shaking her head so the little rollers under the thin scarf jittered. “I don't understand why you bother with this, she'll be back here tomorrow anyway. Every weekend same thing! Waste of time and money!”

The man said nothing, but judging by the look on his face, he agreed. The old lady snatched the form and went to sit on the wooden benches, muttering to herself.

“Next!”

Moira stepped up to the window. She could hear the steady snapping of typewriters in the back room, the secretaries typing up the nights arrest reports. Moira couldn't believe Charles had been dumb enough to get plastered and arrested in the middle of a job. He only started drinking when he was bored or horny, and usually SHIELD missions were enough entertainment for him. Whatever the reason behind his lapse, it meant Erik would be in a delightful mood by the time Moira would get to him. 

“Good morning, I'm here to pay the bail of Charles Xavier,” Moira said with a smile. ”X-A-V-I-E-R.”

He turned to the list. ”Yes, he's here. You can't bail him out until noon, his paperwork isn't done. We go in alphabetical order.” He pointed at the benches. “You can sit down to wait.” 

Moira glanced the clock on the wall. Fifteen past ten. She couldn't wait two hours while they typed up a report that SHIELD would just intercept and shred anyway. It wasn't right for the poor secretaries. She pulled the badge from her right pocket, flicking the shiny star at the attendant. 

“You can safe yourself the trouble. U.S. Marshals. I need Xavier released immediately to my custody,” she said.

The man stared at her, then back at the badge. “What is he, a fugitive?”

“That's not really relevant, is it? I'm here to take him from your hands,” Moira said, pushing the badge back to her pocket. “I need you to go get him, and show me where to sign.” She used the tight, no non-sense voice that usually got everyone to do what she wanted. The man hesitated, and Moira started to wonder if the FBI badge would've been more impressive. 

The front door opened and more people came in, the waiting room filling up quick. The attendant looked around and got up, deciding that it was better not to sit here and deal with that crowd than do what Moira had asked. He pushed a release order under the slot. 

“I'll go get him for you, ma'am.” 

Moira read the charges. Public indecency dash O, disorderly conduct, inebriation, assault. So Charles got drunk, started making out with some omega, probably taken, and then got into a fight. Regular Friday night for him, except they were in a middle of a damn mission and Moira didn't have time for this alpha crap. She signed the form in an unreadable squiggle, and drew a cloud in the top right corner. If one of these carbon copies would appear in a place they shouldn't have, the cleaner teams would know to intercept them. It wasn't a foolproof system, but there wasn't much real information in this form, other than the name. 

It took a good ten minutes before the side door opened and Charles came through, holding a paper bag that had his belongings. He looked like he had woken up with a bad hangover. Moira didn't bother saying anything, the people in the waiting room staring at them already. She thanked the attendant and gave him the signed form, before grabbing Charles' arm and pulling him out of the door into the noisy street. She popped the umbrella open and lead him toward the car. 

“Good morning to you too,” Charles muttered.

“Don't even bother,” Moira said, looking around quickly. “You two screwed up and don't think for a second that Carter won't find out about this. We need to get Erik and try to get...back to work.”

“It was work! We saw the mark last night but he saw us too, we had to make bit of a smokescreen to get out. You didn't have to come get me, I was about to pay the bail. In an hour or so. What time is it?”

Moira stopped at the car, yanking the passenger door open.“Now you are worried about time? That's great, really. Maybe you could've thought of that two hours ago, so I didn't have to drive all this way to bail you out!”

“Shh, let's be quiet, alright? I have a headache,” Charles complained, ignoring her gesture and sliding in the back seat. Moira rolled her eyes and slammed the door shut, walking around the car and getting behind the wheel. Like she was his personal driver, not his boss. Moira pulled to the traffic, heading toward the center.

Moira didn't have a sensitive nose, which she was a thankful for, but in a close space even she noticed the stink of booze and hormones wafting from the backseat. Moira frowned. He went in season as steady as a clock, and the next one wasn't supposed to happen until December. She had written it down moths ago. She wanted to ask what was going on, but she knew him well enough by now. He would just quip something stupid, and change the topic. 

“Where did they take Erik?” Charles asked, dumping the contents of the paper bag on the backseat and taking his watch. 

“To Envy. Which is why you'll stay in the car while I deal with this.”

“I could get him out in two minutes,” he said, going through his wallet before putting it back to his pocket. 

“You need a marriage certificate to get him out, I don't,” Moira said, like explaining things to a child. “And the report said 'assault', that means at least half an hour interview about your home life and two-hour lecture of how to maintain a healthy relationship. We don't have time for that.”

“I could...” He wiggled his fingers near his temple. 

“You know your powers don't affect paper work, don't you? One fast typist and there's a paper trail a mile long,” Moira said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Charles liked to think everything could be fixed with little nudge here and there, but unless he was ready to blank-wipe hundreds of people, he should leave the bureaucracy to her. “You wait in the car.”

“I could have breakfast?” 

“See, that's why you wouldn't get Erik out in two minutes, powers or not,” Moira noted, peering through the windshield as the rain intensified and the traffic slowed to a crawl. “You should be concerned what Erik had to eat. They pay attention to that sort of thing in Envy.”

“He doesn't eat breakfast,” Charles said. “He's more of a brunch sort of guy.”

“What?”

“It's a joke,” Charles said and grimaced. 

“They don't like jokes either,” Moira said, turning the wheel quick to change lanes, the horns blaring behind her. She drove on, turning to a side street to look for a parking spot. She found one and crammed the borrowed Ford into it. “You could spent this time thinking what to say in your report.”

“I could,” Charles noted and settled in the backseat, pulling his coat over his shoulders and closing his eyes. 

She wiggled out of her beige trench coat and changed into a tailor-made wool coat she had ready on the front seat, then pulled her hair up to a quick bun before taking a pair of fake glasses from the glove apartment. 

“You know, hair pins annoy him.” 

“Everything annoys him,” Moira muttered, staring in the rear view mirror to add lipstick. “I'm more worried that he has spent the night alone in confinement. That will push him right past annoyed to straight-up murderous.”

“He knows how to sit tight,” Charles said, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. “He's much better at that than I am.” 

“Then why don't you practice that while I'm gone?” Moira flashed a smile to test her look. Smart, professional, not too sexy. It would work. “Stay!” Charles grunted in reply and she got out of the car, grabbing her umbrella with her. She tried to avoid the rivers of rain water rushing to the gutters, walking as fast as she could without drawing attention. 

Unlike the alpha pound, the Envy was a big building complex: a hospital, an orphanage and a shelter, all rolled into one. It was so new that there was still scaffolding around the front. The door opened with a smooth push, the lobby like a bastardization between an old bank and modern hotels, with shiny floors and light colors, the front desk made of something that looked like mahogany. The air was crisp and fresh like up in the Swiss Alps. There was no lines, and Moira walked to the first official, another young man. He wore a suit, with a name tag over his breast pocket and smiled at her with practiced ease. 

“How can I help you today, ma'am?”

“I'm here to pick up my employee, detained last nigh,” Moira said and handed the case number that they had given to her over the phone. The man took the slip of paper with a nod and turned to check their files. 

“Yes, of course,” he said, turning back to her. His smile had turned tighter. “There was some concern about his heat blocker medication, it might be wrong kind for him. We suggest he stays here for another day, so they can assess if he needs more...”

“Thank you, there's no need to stay,” Moira interrupted before he could go on. “We provide excellent healthcare for all our employees.”

“We have to be sure, ma'am. What company did you say you was?”

Moira took the identification card from her pocket and handed it over with a brisk smile. “Ms. Johnson, IRS. And what a beautiful office space you have here, is this floor real marble? It must've been expensive.” 

His professional smile dropped for a split second. “I'm not sure, ma'am. Why don't you step into the waiting room number three, and I'll make sure your employee is ready to leave.”

“Thank you,” Moira said and took the fake ID, slipping it to her coat pocket. IRS was her favorite identity, the reactions were always amusing. People had pretty wild ideas what would interest IRS. 

The waiting room was small, with few chairs, a side table with glasses and a pitcher of water on a tray, the day's newspaper folded next to it. There was a locked door that lead deeper into the building, probably to the shelter side. It took a few minutes before the lock turned and the door opened. Middle aged woman in a blue uniform came in, a red cross pin tugged in the collar of her white cardigan. 

“Here we are,” she said cheerily, holding the door open for Erik. He came in, coat over his arm and looking like he considered throttling the nurse where she stood. Moira held back a laughter. She had expected worse. 

“These are for you, miss,” the nurse said with another cheery smile. “The record of his stay for your doctor, and some helpful literature about how to change or stop using blocking medication safely.”

“Ah. I see, thank you. Do I have to sign something?” 

“No, this is all settled.” She patted Erik's arm in passing. “Take care of yourself, dear.”

Erik looked like he was about to throw up, or maybe he was just having a stroke from anger. Moira poured a glass of water and held it to him. He took it and sat down on the chair.

“What were we this time?” 

“IRS,” Moira said, folding her arms. “How are you feeling?”

He scoffed. “Beside being a tax collector? I'm fine,” he said. “Where's Charles?”

“In the car, sleeping off his hangover.” Moira pulled a chair and sat down, watching him closely. He was pale and his hands shook. It could've been the hangover, but Erik didn't drink the way Charles did. “We have time to talk. What happened last night?”

“You said you wanted to a closer look of the man. It was Charles' idea, and it worked. He has all the files on him, in a black, leather briefcase. It's not a big problem to lift that from him.”

“That's all?” Moira asked.

He shrugged, taking a sip of water. 

Moira didn't pretend to understand the hormonal fluxes they went through in regular intervals, but she knew her team and she wasn't stupid. There was one obvious explanation to their sudden strange behavior, and Erik was more likely to fess up than Charles. Or go into a raging fit and pull some scaffolding through the windows, but there was always risks. Moira took a deep breath.

“Did you sleep with Charles?” 

“What?”

“Sex. Did you have sex last night? I need to know.”

“Why? You need to add that to the mission report?” 

“So you did have sex?” Moira repeated, fighting to stay calm. From all the fucked up things they could've done behind her back, this was one of the worst. 

“No, we didn't,” Erik said, annoyed. He got up and pulled on his coat. He looked even paler, and Moira didn't blame the staff for thinking he was sick. “Can we get out of here?”

“But you wanted to have sex with him,” Moira prompted. “Your blockers didn't 'malfunction', you cut your dosage on your own to see if he would take interest. Except when Charles gets horny like that, he starts drinking and that put a wrench in your plans. Am I right?”

“Look, it doesn't matter, we didn't have sex! And I did my job, what else do you want?”

“Me? Nothing. This is about you,” Moira said, staring at him. “I'm responsible for this team. If you aren't happy, I need to know. If you want something else than work, I need to know that too, so I can prepare what to say to Director Carter.”

“You mean so you can kick me out of the team.”

“Did I say that?” Moira asked, keeping calm. When he got into these boneheaded moods, it was better to stay focused on the core argument, and not let him rail the discussion. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. “I said I have to prepare. If you two hook up, it's going to change the dynamic of the team, you know that. It's not a casual thing.”

“It could be,” he said sullenly. 

“Is that so? Then why didn't you just ask Charles outright instead coming up this complicated plan? You know he's easy that way. You could've fucked ages ago, blockers or no.”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can we leave now? Please?” 

Moira sighed and stood up. “I got you a rental car around the corner, get to the airport. There's a ticket on your name back to Washington. I'm giving you a week off to get your levels back to normal, and I'm sure Director Carter wants to have a word with you as well.”

“What about Charles?”

“Oh, he asked for some peace and quiet. As it happens, I have hundred and forty boxes of surveillance reports from our various missions that someone has to go through with a black marker. I think that would be peaceful enough, don't you you?” 

“You know, he hates paperwork,” Erik said, following after her. 

“Does he? Well, this will be educational experience for him,” Moira said and flashed a smile. "Don't drink and piss off betas at the same time."


End file.
